Behind the Mask (MIRA)

by Metsy Hingle

  “Yes, sir, she did,” Michael replied, unsure what to say and still finding it difficult to imagine his father ever surrendering his badge. He certainly hadn’t understood his own need to walk away from his shield. “You enjoying it?”

  “Most of the time. I miss the work, but things changed a lot after you left. The new recruits needed a different kind of chief. You remember Henderson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He took over for me, seems to be doing a good job.” His father sighed. “But I’m sure you didn’t call to hear me talk shop. Since your mother’s not here, is there something I can help you with?”

  Shaking off the melancholy brought on by talking to his father again, Michael said, “I was trying to get in touch with Travis. I’ve tried leaving several messages at both the Bureau and his home, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls. I really need to talk to him. It’s important.”

  “I haven’t heard from him for a couple of weeks now. He said he was going on some kind of special assignment. But he gave me a new cell phone number before he left,” Big Mike said, and Michael could hear him shuffling through papers. “Must have left it upstairs somewhere. You want me to call you back when I find it?”

  “Maybe you could just have Travis call me. I’m in New Orleans right now, but he can reach me on my cell phone,” he explained, and gave his father the number.

  “Got it. Everything all right, son?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s just a case I’m working on right now. It’s kind of complicated, but there’s a woman and a little boy involved. They’re in trouble, and need some help.”

  “Anything I can do?” Big Mike asked him.

  Michael knew the offer hadn’t come lightly considering how things had ended between them five years ago. “I appreciate the offer,” Michael said. “And I may take you up on it. But first I need to talk to Travis, see if he can check on someone for me.”

  “All right. I’ll try to reach your brother. In the meantime, I’ve still got some pretty decent contacts. You want me to see if I can find out what you need?”

  Michael gave his father Webster’s name and filled him in on the case, on Lily and Timmy, on Lily’s call to the FBI. It was like old times, running a situation by his father and getting his input on the best way to handle things. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed doing so until now. “Son, I suppose you’ve considered there could be some other reason this fellow Webster’s going to such lengths to get her back.”

  “You mean that she might have something that belongs to him,” Michael offered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve considered it. But I don’t think so. She doesn’t have anything of real value. And if you met Lily, saw her with her son, you’d understand.”

  “It sounds like you’re very fond of her,” his father said.

  And maybe you’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment—again. Although Big Mike didn’t say the words aloud, Michael could hear the accusation in his head.

  “I am fond of her and the little boy. But it hasn’t impacted my ability to think like a cop,” he countered.

  “I didn’t think it would,” his father said, surprising him. “I’ll try to reach your brother and see what I can find out. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Be careful, son.”

  He was going to have to tell her everything this evening, Michael decided as he climbed the stairs and knocked on Lily’s door. He just prayed that once he did, he could convince her not to bolt.

  “Hi,” he said when she opened the door to him. “All set?”

  Juggling Timmy on her hip Lily replied, “You know, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean, it hasn’t been long since Timmy had the chicken pox and I have to work tomorrow…”

  Michael sighed, frustrated to see the wariness coming back into her eyes, hearing it in her voice. “It’s a pretty evening,” he began, and set out a list of reasons to convince her. He needed the time with her, a chance to put her at ease enough so he could tell her who he was, why he was here. “It’s not too cool and there’s no rain in the forecast. The start of the parade route is only a few blocks from here, so we’ll be catching it right at the beginning. You’ll be back here in plenty of time to get Timmy to bed on schedule and for you to get your beauty sleep.”

  “Really, Michael, I don’t think—”

  “Come on, Lily. You’ll disappoint Timmy and me if you say no.”

  “Pwease, Mommy?” Timmy said.”

  All right. But let me get Timmy’s jacket just in case it gets chilly. And I’ll bring his stroller in case he gets tired.”

  “No stwoller,” Timmy said to his mother’s retreating form. “I big. I a cowboy,” Timmy complained to Michael.

  Michael stooped down, bringing himself to eye level with the little boy. “Tell you what, cowboy. We’ll take the stroller just in case we need something to hold all the loot you catch.”

  Timmy eyed him in that same wary manner that Lily often did, Michael noted. “’Kay.”

  “That’s my man,” Michael said and high-fived the boy.

  Then Timmy hugged him, kissed his cheek and said, “I wuv you, Mikull.”

  Everything inside Michael seemed to shut down. He hugged the little boy close. Emotion formed a knot in his throat, and he swallowed hard, knowing if he tried to speak, his voice would be anything but steady. Damn, he thought. It was bad enough that the mother had gotten under his skin. But had the kid gotten beneath his radar and stolen a chunk of his heart, too? Suddenly he knew that was exactly what had happened.

  “Ready?” Lily asked when she joined them.

  “Yeah,” Michael said. He took the stroller from her, carried it down the short flight of stairs.

  “Come on, Timmy. Let Mommy put you in your stroller.”

  “I big boy,” Timmy told her. He crossed his arms over his small chest and gave her a pouting look.

  “Um, he and I had a little talk, Lily. I sort of told him we’d use the stroller for the loot.”

  “The loot?” she repeated.

  Michael grinned. “The loot we’re going to catch at the parade.”

  “I see,” she said, her tone skeptical. “So you think we’re going to catch that much stuff, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Michael assured her as they started down the street toward the avenue where the parade was slated to pass. While Lily held on to Timmy’s hand, he pushed the stroller. But when the little boy held out his free hand to him, Michael guided the stroller one-handed and used his other one to hold Timmy’s.

  With Timmy walking, they slowed their pace to accommodate his small steps. As a result, what would have normally been a ten-minute walk took them twenty minutes. And by the time they reached Saint Charles Avenue, the marching bands were already passing.

  “I didn’t realize there would be so many people,” Lily shouted to him above the din of the music and noise.

  “I suppose everyone had the same idea we did—catch it at the start and get home early,” Michael remarked as he maneuvered to find them a spot near the front of the crowd so that Lily and Timmy could see. He settled for a spot where the people were only two and three deep. After parking the stroller next to a ladder that had been rigged with a seat to accommodate a little girl about a year older than Timmy, he reached for Timmy and hoisted him atop his shoulders. “You’re going to need your hands to catch,” he explained to Timmy when the boy clung to him with one hand and held on to his teddy with the other. “How about we let Teddy guard the stroller?”

  “’Kay,” Timmy said as he handed his beloved teddy to his mother.

  “All right, here comes the first float. Now, hold up your hands and yell, ‘Throw me something, mister,”’ Michael instructed. “That goes for you, too, Mom.”

  “I’ll just watch,” Lily told him, and Michael smiled. He’d already taken in a couple of the parades and knew firsthand that th
e lure of catching the cheap trinkets was like a fever. It had nothing to do with value. Most of the beads—even the prized long, colored pearls—doubloons, cups and stuffed toys could all be bought for less than a dollar each. But it had everything to do with the game and the frenzied spirit that gripped the city during the pre-Lenten festival.

  So Michael wasn’t at all surprised when Lily squealed as she caught a fistful of long, shiny white pearls. He also wasn’t surprised to see that she was racking up throws at lightning speed, since the parade was an all-male organization. Even in the faded jeans, tennis shoes and pink sweatshirt, and without a lick of makeup, she was beautiful. And when she was excited and laughing happily as she was now, a man would have to be dead not to take notice.

  He’d taken notice.

  When the couple next to them offered to let “Michael and Lily’s son” join their daughter in the seat, Michael didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “Looks like I have a free pair of shoulders,” he told Lily. “Want to hop on? I’ll carry you up to the float and we’ll see if we can get them to part with some of those green pearls.”

  “I can’t get on your shoulders,” she informed him, her eyes wide with shock at the suggestion.

  “Sure you can. Ma’am,” Michael addressed the woman on the ladder behind the little girl and Timmy. “Will you keep an eye on him for us while we go up to the float?”

  “Sure thing,” the woman replied.

  “All right. Now come on,” Michael told Lily. “Hop on.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “Look at all the other women on men’s shoulders.”

  “But those are young girls and women with their boyfriends. I’m…I’m a mother.”

  “You’re probably younger than most of them. Now come on,” Michael insisted and stooped down for her to get on.

  “Go ahead, honey,” the mother of the little girl on the ladder told her. “If my Buddy here had shoulders like your husband’s, you can bet I’d have him put me on them.”

  “What’s wrong with my shoulders?” the offended Buddy demanded.

  “Nothing, lover. I just don’t trust them to hold me.”

  “But I…he…” Lily stammered.

  Michael caught her hand. “Come on, Lily. Get on so we can get those beads while the float’s stopped.”

  She climbed on, and Michael couldn’t help thinking how light she was as he made his way through the throng of people. He also was conscious of the feel of her bottom against his shoulders, the curve of her thighs around his neck. And just as he’d thought, she had no problem getting the masked riders to part with their stash of long beads.

  “Look, Timmy. Look what Mommy got,” she told him, laughing excitedly when she returned with her arms loaded with dozens and dozens of beads, cups and two more stuffed animals. “You can put me down now, Michael,” she said. He stooped down and allowed her to slide off his shoulders.

  When she’d finished dividing her loot between the other couple, Timmy and the little girl, she came to him. “I think you need a pair of these, too, Mr. Sullivan,” she said, slipping the beads around his neck. “Thank you.”

  Someone in the crowd bumped Lily, and sent her sprawling against him. Instinctively, Michael’s arms went around her. And in that instant, the loud music, the laughter, the voices and the people faded. The smile slid from her lips. Her eyes, aglow with the excitement of the parade, darkened. Suddenly he no longer cared that she was Elisabeth Webster, another man’s wife, a woman he’d been paid to find. He’d stopped thinking of her as anyone other than Lily more than a week ago. And although he knew it was a mistake, he lowered his head and kissed her.

  Eleven

  Almost immediately Lily stepped back. Michael wondered if he’d imagined the tiny gasp that escaped Lily’s lips before he’d kissed her, the sweet softness and slight tremor of those lips when they’d met his. One look into Lily’s eyes, and he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

  By the time the parade was over and he carried a sleeping Timmy inside the house, Lily was as skittish as a filly about to be saddled for the first time. “Poor little guy is out cold,” Michael told her after she’d changed the sleeping tyke into his pajamas and tucked him into bed. Placing his teddy in the bed with him, Lily exited the bedroom and Michael followed.

  “We both had a wonderful time tonight,” she told him, her voice overbright. A sure sign that she was nervous, Michael realized. “Thank you again for taking us.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Well, it’s getting late, and I have to work tomorrow.”

  “You going to kick me out without even offering me a cup of coffee?”

  She hesitated a moment. “How about hot chocolate instead?”

  “Hot chocolate sounds fine.” He followed her into the kitchen and searched for a way to tell her who and what he was.

  “I still can’t believe all the stuff we caught. What am I supposed to do with all those beads?”

  He knew it was nerves that made her ramble, but since he was feeling some nerves of his own—albeit for a different reason—he wasn’t sure how to put her at ease. “I think people sell them or save them for when they ride in a parade and use them as their own throws.”

  “That would make sense,” she said as she opened the pantry. “I imagine it’s expensive to buy all those things just to throw them away.” She reached for the canister on the top shelf.

  “Here, let me get that for you.”

  “That’s all right, I can get it,” she began.

  But he’d already moved behind her. And in the small space, his body brushed up against her back. The feel of her bottom pressed against him sent desire racing through him. Her honey-colored hair tickled his mouth. He sucked in a breath, and her scent—peaches and sunshine—filled his head. Michael closed his hands over her shoulders and turned her to face him. When she looked up at him he saw the answering heat in her eyes, and he did what he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d first seen her. No, he amended. What he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d seen her picture. He closed his arms around her and kissed her.

  But unlike that barely-there brushing of lips they’d shared at the parade, this time he truly kissed her. His mouth closed over hers. Mouths met, tasted, tempted. He lifted his head, angled for a better fit, and went back for more. When he tested the seam of her lips with his tongue, she opened to him. He groaned and deepened the kiss.

  He had known desire before now, Michael told himself. He had known the ache to make love to a woman before now. Yet nothing, nothing in his life compared to the vicious burning inside him now to make love with Lily. He skimmed his hands down her sides, drank in her gasp as his fingers brushed her breasts. He smoothed his palms along the slope of her waist, over the curve of her hips, then cupped her bottom and fitted her against his hardness.

  Michael tore his mouth free, breathed in her scent, shuddered at the feel of her against him. Her quickening breath only fueled his need for more. He wanted her. Here. Now. With a fierceness that frightened him. And because he wanted her so desperately, he forced himself to slow down. It wouldn’t be fair to take things further with so many secrets between them.

  He had thought everything tender inside him had died in that back alley in Houston five years ago when Pete had been killed. Yet it was tenderness he felt when he captured Lily’s flushed face in his hands and said, “I want you, Lily. But before this goes any further, we need to talk. I need you to tell me the truth.”

  She had to be dreaming, Lily thought. A wonderful, delicious dream. How else could she explain all these feelings inside her, this longing for Michael? After that last night with Adam, she had been positive she could never again bear a man’s touch. She had been so sure that she would never want a man’s touch. Yet she had wanted Michael. She had welcomed his touch. His kisses. Him. Still reveling in the taste and feel of him, it took her a moment to realize he was no longer kissing her, that his hands were no longer touching her. That he
was talking to her.

  “Tell me the truth, Lily.”

  Lily blinked.

  “You can trust me,” Michael told her. He slid his hands to her shoulders and held her. “Tell me what it is you’re running from.”

  Lily stilled as his words penetrated her kiss-drugged senses. She trembled, fearful for a moment that somehow Michael knew about Adam and he’d come to take her back. He was a former cop, she remembered. Adam knew lots of cops. “I’m not running from anything,” she fibbed, and started to turn away from him.

  Michael held on to her shoulders, not hurting her, but not releasing her, either. “Then tell me who or what it is that you’re so afraid of.”

  “You’re wrong,” she insisted.

  “Am I?”

  “This…what happened just now between us was a mistake,” she told him.

  “You mean the kiss?”

  “Yes,” she responded.

  “It wasn’t a mistake, Lily. It was inevitable. We’ve been leading up to that kiss and a whole lot more from the moment we set eyes on each other.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted. Jerking free of his grasp, she stalked across the kitchen to the counter.

  “I know that I want you. And I know that you want me.”

  Keeping her back to him, she said, “Whether I want you or you want me is immaterial. I should never have let things go this far. I told you before, I’m not interested in a relationship with you or anyone.”

  “Because of Timmy,” he said from behind her.

  “That’s right.”

  His hands came down on her shoulders. He turned her to face him. “Look at me, Lily.”

  She looked up at him, refusing to allow herself to be moved by the tenderness she read in his blue eyes. When he stroked a finger along her cheek, she turned her face away.

  “I can help you, Lily. You and Timmy. But you need to tell me what it is you’re afraid of.”

  Only, Michael couldn’t help her. No one could. And were she to involve him in any way, she would only put his life in danger. It was time for her and Timmy to move on, she realized. Past time. She’d evidently done or said something that had caused Michael to pick up on the fact that she was on the run. And if he had picked up on it, chances were someone else would, too—if they hadn’t already. As much as she hated to admit it, New Orleans was no longer a safe place for her and Timmy.